Mistress of Brown Furrows (15 page)

“Because I heard you. You see, it was I who knocked at the door, and although you didn’t answer my good night you heard me quite clearly, didn’ t you?”

Carol’ s blush became almost painful.

“In future,” he told her, “don’t bother to lock the door. It really isn’t necessary.”

“I won’t,” Carol promised, in almost a hoarse little whisper.

“No one is going to force their way in on you, you know,” he told her, with a return to the gentleness she had come to associate with him.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The autumn days were slowly shortening, and with the gradual merging into winter Carol found that the process of settling down in her new home was more difficult than even she would have believed when she first came to Brown Furrows. With Timothy of course it would have been easy to settle down anywhere and at any time, and with Timothy alone she was always able to extract a modicum of quiet happiness and a certain measure of contentment from the somewhat uneventful day-to-day routine. Even though he treated her more and more as if she was either his very young and reasonably dear sister (not the independent type like Meg!) or the ward he had once declared her to be, his attitude was never anything but kindly and considerate.

There were occasions when he behaved encouragingly towards her, if he felt she was in need of encouragement, and she was always certain of his protection. But as a wife—well, Timothy had plainly no need of a wife, not in the sense that most truly feminine women aspire one day to be. If he had ever desired to be provided with a family, have someone who bore his name and shared his interests, taking her rightful place at the head of his home and turning it into a real home—with fun and light and laughter, in place of the cloistered calm which prevailed under Meg—and on the near side of his heart (if it was not the heart of a born bachelor!) then he would have married long ago.

Not even in her own mind did Carol attempt to solve the slight riddle that was the husband she had acquired without ever expecting to acquire one at all, but she did know that about Timothy there was a rock of firmness and a cool, quiet, logical level-headedness which would not be likely to fail him very easily. To her he represented strength and an everyday kind of sanity which was unencumbered by emotion, and he possessed a strong sense of humor which really did delight her, for there at least they had much in common. It didn’ t matter to her that Meg had practically no sense of humor at all, for with Timothy she could share all the jokes and enjoy all the little amusing incidents which are bound to break the monotony of the most humdrum existence, and know that he at least saw eye to eye with her.

What did concern her about Meg was her sister-in-law’s obvious and growing complacency about their marriage. At first she had made it plain—to Carol, at least—that she resented it, that it had come as something like a bombshell to upset her own ordered life. But as soon as she realized that it was not in any sense of the word a normal marriage she became not only reconciled, but prepared to make the most of it.

She felt that Carol was the wrong type altogether ever to become a menace to her own peace of mind, that Timothy had behaved quixotically in marrying her, but that as he had done so the situation had resolved itself into something she herself should be able to handle very easily. Viola Featherstone would have been a different matter, but Carol, so young, so inexperienced, so much on the threshold of life that she herself did not know what it was she required from it, made everything so much more simple. If Timothy
had
to marry, Carol was the one type he could have chosen who could have ensured for Meg a continued rule in her old home and a right to maintain her old supremacy.

For if she was not easily moulded the girl would presumably ‘grow up’ one day, and then she would discover tastes and desires of her own which might easily conflict with Timothy’s future plans for her. A schoolgirl entering into womanhood was one thing, but a young woman very much alive and conscious of all the things she was missing, despite the fact that the world believed her to be a married woman, was another. And Carol, Meg thought, had a look in her eyes which promised no half-hearted development once the stage at which she left her undemanding youth behind was passed.

Carol at eighteen was already lovelier than many women could ever hope to be. She had eyes and a mouth which proclaimed that one day her temperament might be quite ardent, and a husband so many years older than she was who regarded her—and possibly always would regard her—as the little girl who needed to be cared for and protected was not perhaps the type of husband she would always desire. And even if Timothy had secret designs where she was concerned—and Meg dismissed that as completely unlikely, for if that was the case why wait until the girl, who at present owed him quite a lot and undoubtedly held him in high esteem, had had a chance to grow away from him and overcome all her early sensations of gratitude?—the situation was scarcely altered, for there was still Carol to be considered. And the considerable gap between their ages rendered it highly unlikely that she would form any violent attachment for him, especially as at the moment he did little to encourage any possible aspirations of that sort on her part. Which proved him to be acting with a good deal of indiscretion if Carol, as a real and permanent wife, was his sole and ultimate aim in life. Even Meg could have told him that, and Meg had dismissed the one opportunity she had ever had to marry.

Carol was not altogether taken in by her sister-in-law's attempts to provide her with entertainment and occupation during those early weeks of her marriage, while she was still trying to fit herself in to a somewhat alien household. She had no part or lot in the running of the house itself. She was like a guest who might become established there in time, and for whom some useful tasks must be devised. She was not to be allowed to be bored; she was just a cog in a wheel, but the wheel would continue to revolve with beautiful and undiminished smoothness whether she was there or not, and that was the impression that found its way most forcefully into her mind.

Meg had suggested that she might ride, and urged Timothy to procure her a horse, but that was because Meg rode herself, and she could not imagine anyone living in the country and not doing so. And when the girl obtained her mount and it was such a beautiful little bay mare that she decided to call it Beauty, Meg smiled and said it was quite a suitable name, although she privately considered it rather childish. But Carol must call it what she liked—for Carol was the one to be humored! Carol might also like to undertake work for the church bazaar. She might spend her evenings knitting for one or other of the charitable organizations patronized by Meg; she could, if she liked, lend help with the accounts—if her arithmetic was sufficiently good. And when the dogs needed exercise she might take them for their walks. All those things were necessary, but other people could do them if Carol did not wish to undertake such tasks.

Meg made it plain that she was trying to include Carol in all the little daily doings, but there was no vital role which she might fill, unless one was specially vacated for her. And the only really vital role which a mistress of Brown Furrows might be expected to wish to fill was the one occupied by Meg herself, and she was quite sure Carol would not wish her to desert her post at just that precise juncture, when Carol herself was so inexperienced.

‘Inexperienced’ was the word which was forever on Meg’ s lips in connection with Carol, and she had forgotten all about the course of household management. Although Carol had not.

But Carol did not under-estimate Meg’s powers, or her value in the house. She knew that she herself had a lot to learn, but she was unlikely to learn it from Meg. And therefore at times she was aware of an acute loneliness, for since his return to the farm Timothy had begun to take a much keener interest in his property than he had ever done before, and was absent a good deal of the day for at least five days of the week. He had ideas for expansion, and experiments which he wished to carry out. He was also much interested in a greater amount of modernization of the farm-house; he and his bailiff spent a lot of their time in conclave, and those conclaves naturally excluded Carol.

Apart from an early ride with him in the morning—if he was not getting up extra early to ride with Meg—and sometimes a walk with him in the evenings, before dinner, Carol saw actually very little of him. After dinner Meg was always seated with them in the long low drawing-room—which Carol had no desire at all to alter, thinking its furnishing lovely—and Meg always out-sat her sister-in-law, who retired to bed long before she did, being unaccustomed as yet to keeping late hours.

Occasionally they had friends to dinner or visitors to tea, but not often. Meg was not really sociable, and Timothy certainly was not. He gave the impression when he came in at night, after, perhaps, a long day in the open fields, or a visit to some distant town in search of new implements or special ‘feeds,’ of being glad to sink down in his arm-chair by the fire with one or other of his two women-folk seated near to him, especially when the days began to shorten still more, and winter was really upon them.

There would be Carol in her low chair close to his knee, her bright hair a flame in the lamplight, Kate the spaniel curled up at her feet—for Kate had taken a really violent fancy to her new mistress, not altogether earning Meg’ s approval—and Meg engaged in petit-point beside her work-table near the window. Meg would have the Siamese cat on her lap, for he at least was faithful to her, and Agatha would come in about ten o’clock with a tray of coffee and sandwiches—and hot milk for Carol, who was being fattened up. Carol disliked hot milk intensely, but Meg was insistent. She was far, far too thin.

Sometimes Carol, who was not yet accustomed to the strong northern air, fell asleep over her knitting, and Timothy gently prodded her awake when it was time for her to go to bed. When she opened her eyes he would be smiling at her, in that gentle fashion she had always liked, his blue eyes very blue in the fire-glow, his eyelashes very long, and he would say as if he was speaking to a child: “Up to bed, my poppet! If you can’ t get there on your two feet I’ ll carry you—but up to bed you go! ”

And Meg would. smile at them both indulgently.

“Poor Carol! It’s a good thing we don’t do a lot of entertaining, she would find it so difficult to keep awake! ’ And Carol felt, whether it was intended or not, that it was a reflection on her being so very young, and having no proper control over her senses.

Once Timothy did actually carry her up to bed, depositing her as if she was no heavier than a feather in the arm-chair beside her turned-on electric fire, which was giving off a comforting heat. She was so heavily drowsy on that occasion that she could do no more than blink at him under her short, thick eyelashes, and his smile as he gazed down at her was touched with a hint of tenderness.

“Would you like me to act lady’s maid and see you into bed?” he suggested. “I believe you’ ll simply stay there and fall asleep again if I leave you.”

“Oh,
no!”

She struggled up into a sitting position, and the bright banners of color invaded her face. All in an instant she was completely awake and filled with confusion.

“Quite sure?” But there was something a little odd in the reflective glance he directed at her face, and her suddenly downcast eyelids. From her he looked round the room, taking in all the feminine appointments, the white dressing-gown over the foot of her bed, her slippers beside the bed, the insubstantial nightdress laid out over the pillow. Kate had followed them and was wagging her tail from the fleecy rug in front of the dressing-table, obviously intending to stay there the night, and the light glowed softly over the array of toilet jars and bottles, and the gold-backed hairbrushes and hand-mirror he himself had given her. “You look very cosy in here,” he remarked. “Are you perfectly comfortable? I hope you are.”

“Oh, yes, of course I am.” Carol was still so confused that she spoke with unnecessary emphasis. “I couldn’ t be more comfortable. It—it’s a lovely room.”

“And you have everything you want?”

“Everything. ”

“That’ s good.” He touched her gold curls lightly, stroking them as if the silken sheen fascinated him. “You know you have only to ask if you do want anything at any time. Remember that.”

“I will. But I don’t—I shan’t...!’

Her heart was thumping so loudly that she wondered whether he could hear it.

“You never know,” he said. “Well, you’re sure you don’t want me for a lady’ s maid?”

“No, thanks very much.” She tried to smile as if she thought it was a joke, but try as she would she could not meet his eyes. “I’ m very much awake now, and ashamed of falling asleep like that. I wonder why I do it?”

“Because you’ re tired, of course. And also because you’ ve not yet become accustomed to the keen air up here. Perhaps you get up too early in the mornings. We’d better cancel our rides and let you have breakfast in bed.” But that was one thing she would not permit. Her rides were the one event of the day she looked forward to, at least when she was accompanied by Timothy. She looked so distressed at the idea of his terminating them that he soothed her at once by recalling the notion, and before he went away he lifted one of her hands, carried it up to his lips and saluted it quite gallantly on the backs of her slim fingers.

“Good night, my dear. Sleep well,” he said.

She lifted her eyes at last and gave him a rewarding, if not too certain, smile.